Handful of Dirt
by element90
Summary: Some things are lost while others are found.


Special thanks to Maia (see? told you I'd give you credit) for providing me with some insight on how a toddler might speak since I hadn't a clue.

Handful of Dirt

Distractedly running her thumb over the ring on her finger, she watches the blond-haired little boy as he takes great care in shoveling the moist earth into a small mound. Firmly patting it down, he glances up at her with his warm brown eyes reflecting the bright afternoon sunshine.

"Spacesip," he announces, rising to his feet to proudly display the round, flattened pile of dirt.

"It's a very good spaceship," she praises, giving him a tender smile while mentally noting that his father has definitely allowed him to watch too many science fiction movies.

"Lasuls too," he expertly explains, gesturing to the three sticks poking out of the mound. "Geen ones."

She chuckles softly, despite the cloud of sorrow hanging over her head. "Green lasers?"

"Geen lasuls," he repeats, eagerly nodding his head and tossing her a familiar lopsided grin before dropping back to his knees.

As he returns to his meticulous construction of what is shaping up to be another unidentified flying object, she gazes out into the park where several women sit upon wooden benches keeping an eye on their children as they explore the various pieces of playground equipment. They all have wide smiles upon their faces as they admire the innocence of the youths, but her own smile fades as her heart once again sinks in her chest.

Yesterday was unusually cold for California, and the last few vestiges of the bitter chill still hang in the early autumn air, but the sun is warm so she sheds her coat while her thoughts turn to the events of the previous day.

The morning was a blur, but by midday the flurry of activity had come to an abrupt and deafening halt as she set her eyes upon her friend.

The memorial service was short, the tears pricked the skin of her cheeks like needles, and he cradled her hand in his own, but she was concerned for the one sitting at her side. She watched her as she wiped her eyes and tried to hold her chin high. Words were spoken, condolences were voiced, and tears were temporarily abandoned as they journeyed to their second destination.

"Here," he speaks softly from behind her, and she glances over her shoulder. "It's your favorite kind."

With a small smile, she accepts the steaming Styrofoam cup of peppermint cocoa. "Thanks."

Taking a seat next to her, he nods toward the little boy a few feet away with soiled jeans and brown smudges across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. "What's the big project?"

"A fleet of UFOs, I think," she answers, sipping from her beverage.

"To protect the world from a race of hostile invaders, I hope, and not to rid the planet of the human race."

Upon hearing his father's voice, the boy briefly pauses his work and gives him an enthusiastic wave which his dad returns with an equal fervor.

"That probably depends on what stories your sister has been filling his head with."

He smiles and slips out of his jacket. "It's a lot warmer today, isn't it?"

She silently agrees. Today is certainly much warmer than yesterday as they had stood among the small gathering of familiar and unfamiliar faces and faces of the past, one of which was a girl, a woman now, that she hadn't seen since high school. The absence of a surprised expression upon hearing that they had married was comforting, but the flash of surprise across her features upon hearing that they had a child troubled her somewhat.

She could see the words the woman hadn't spoken written in her face before she'd politely excused herself from the conversation, and she could also understand them.

The proposal was unexpected, coming on the heels of their graduation before the sounds of late summer had settled over the small town. But, having been overwhelmingly in favor of the idea, she joyously accepted his offer.

Their parents, though happy for them, were hesitant to condone the engagement of their children at such a young age with their lives waiting for them on the not so distant horizon, but when they had decided to postpone the actual date, their families had breathed sighs of relief.

But even the best of plans are not foolproof.

Less than a year after leaving their adolescences inside the halls of high school, they became adults much sooner than either of them had expected. Years of time to plan their futures dissolved into nine months overnight.

Her goals, and ultimately her dreams were indefinitely shoved to the back burner and disappointment and regret replaced them. If not for the solidity of their love, she knows they would have never survived those trying months and the first few to follow.

As she gazes at the sunny park, he seizes the opportunity to sneak a taste of the rich liquid. "Hey..." He quickly wipes his mouth and replaces the cup in her hands as if nothing had happened. "Get your own next time."

He smirks. "What? It's not like you're drinking it." She softly sighs and sets the cup down on the bench on the other side of her as he gently questions, "Are you okay?"

Without giving him a glance, she nods. "I'm fine."

Reclining back against the bench, he clasps his hands together in his lap. "I think I know what's bothering you."

Turning to look at him, she raises her eyebrow. "I think the obvious is bothering both of us."

He shakes his head, ignoring the pang of sadness. "Not just that..." he replies quietly, glancing down at his hands.

"Then what?" she inquires, tilting her head.

Slowly, he meets her eyes. "I overheard the two of you talking yesterday."

"Who?" she questions, though knowing well what exchange he is referring to and hoping that he is not hurt by her subsequent reaction.

"I know this isn't the life you planned for, Keely," he almost whispers as he turns his attention to the little boy, his blond hair radiant in the light beaming down from the heavens.

She drops her gaze to the barren ground. The life she planned for is a light drizzle dissipating into a dark night. She didn't plan on falling in love, and she certainly didn't plan on becoming a mother so soon.

But an unplanned life is not the same as a life unwanted.

Watching the precocious two-year-old stumble in the soft dirt and giggle at his own clumsiness, she slips her hand into the warmth of her husband's. "No... it's not the life I planned for," she whispers, facing him, locking her gaze on his, "but that doesn't matter."

"There was a time when it did," he speaks quietly.

"Yeah, there was," she concedes.

But she knows it'll never matter again, not since yesterday and the heart-wrenching hours she spent with her friend after the procession had ended.

The love the two of them had shared had been evident in their interactions with one another, but Keely had never fully understood the depth of the love Via held for Owen. However, as she had watched the tears stream down the brunette's face, she had realized that depth was endless and familiar, for her own love for the man sitting next to her stretched far into the distance.

But Via and Owen will never have their chance to experience a life together neither planned nor unplanned, she sadly thinks, and that difficult to swallow truth has put things into perspective for her.

When Via had shakily sprinkled a handful of dirt upon the polished wood of the casket, she had said a final goodbye to the boy who had once irritated her like no other ever could, the boy who had eventually captured her heart with his immature whims, and the man who had practically worshiped the ground she walked upon.

With a handful of dirt, a chapter of her friend's life had ended, and in that moment, something had become strikingly clear to Keely.

"I sal wule 'em all!" he shouts, providing laser beam sound effects as he marches in a circle around his creations.

Keely clears her throat and crosses her arms over her chest as Phil shrinks under her unrelenting stare. "All right," he sighs, "No more babysitting privileges for Pim... but I think she's all ready infected his mind."

"Just remind her to not relive the memories of her school glory days around our son anymore."

"Consider it done." He frowns. "What're we gonna do with him?" he wonders aloud as his son kicks up dirt into the air in his eagerness to destroy his fabricated planet.

She smiles. "I don't know, but it's gonna be a long... long time until he's eighteen."

Phil flinches, and she playfully nudges his ribs.

Out of breath from his jog to the bench, the little boy holds out his hand to his mom. "All that lef of ode wuld," he says, depositing a handful of dirt in her palm.

Glancing down at the mix of earth, dried blades of grass, and tiny pebbles, Keely furrows her brow, but smiles adoringly at her young son. "Thank you, sweetie."

Phil softly chuckles at the way she, as only a mother can, so graciously accepts the gift as if it is akin to the most precious gem.

"Keep," he instructs with a point of his chubby finger and a serious look in his deep brown eyes.

"Yes, sir," she replies with a salute.

He nods slowly in approval of her submission as his little hand closes her fingers around the clumps of dirt before he sprints back to his imaginary universe. Phil and Keely look at each other, puzzled by the odd gesture their young son has made.

"Well, they'll never be able to claim he's not creative," his father says with a shrug.

"Phil..." Keely begins carefully after a few minutes of silence, staring down at her closed hand and becoming aware of the light weight inside it. She opens her fist to look at the remains of the 'old world'.

And she thinks of yesterday, and the heartache, and the pain inside the brunette's eyes, and the passing of a good friend laid to rest with a sprinkling of a handful of dirt.

"Yeah?" he replies with concern laced in his voice.

"I'm sorry I ever doubted this," she admits quietly with misty eyes.

Wrapping his arm around her, he whispers to her ear, "It's okay..." A corner of his lips turns upward. "But don't let it happen again."

She laughs softly and cups his slightly stubbled cheek. "Deal," she says before placing a kiss upon his lips.

"Masta of Wuld says no kissin'."

They part and turn to see their son scornfully shaking his finger at them. "Forgive us, Master," Phil replies holding up his hands in surrender. "Please have mercy."

"Wemember what Masta of Wuld says," he sternly commands after sighing dramatically, much too dramatically for a toddler, Phil mentally notes with a suspicious glance at the boy's mother.

With an amused expression, he watches his son shed his jacket and wrap it around his shoulders before swooping down upon the army of spaceships, trampling them under his sneakers, his makeshift cape flapping in the light breeze.

Cutting her eyes over at Phil as he laughs, Keely states flatly, "Where have I seen something like that before?"

"Beats me," he innocently shrugs. She bites down on her lip thoughtfully. "What?" he inquires.

"We still haven't decided how we're gonna handle that one."

Phil shakes his head. "I still say we don't."

Keely raises her eyebrows. "We're not ever going to tell him?"

"Maybe someday," he answers after careful consideration.

"Daddy!" he yells exuberantly, encouraging his father to join him with a wild wave of his arms. "Come fly time maceen!"

Phil tosses her a look. "Keel, you don't think... do you?"

She sighs. "We are definitely calling Pim as soon as we get home."

With a groan, Phil rises from the bench and hurries to catch up with the little boy running as fast as he can toward the jungle gym. Keely smiles as he grabs him up just before he can climb onto a vacant bench with every intention of leaping off of it.

She briefly closes her eyes and tilts her head skyward to greet the warmth from the afternoon sunshine before returning her gaze to the two most important people in her life. Watching them, she softly squeezes the handful of dirt.


End file.
